The Alliances
by SkyKingdom
Summary: Magic AU. Arthur Kirkland is an agent to the program to defend those without magic from magical citizens with the power that is so feared. He is deployed in France to stop the rebels and sent to spy on Francis Bonnefoy, a noble suspected of supporting the rebellion. He delves deeper into their causes and realizes the government isn't defending the citizens-only their power.
1. Chapter 1

Arthur Kirkland was no stranger to moving around, especially when it came to his job. As one of the current agents in the International Magical Prohibition Program, he was always moving from country to country, trying to stop uprisings against the different governments. It wasn't that the international law deemed magic illegal, it simply said that only the well-trained were allowed to have magic, and the simple civilian could not use their magic. So many protested, that there were regular fights between the rebels and the agents. The agents were winning this brutal war, and there were few countries who hadn't instilled complete control over their civilians.

So here he stood, before the Eiffel Tower, in Paris, France, the city in which the rebels were the fiercest, for this was their most powerful stronghold. It could not be found, but with Arthur's help, that would change. Arthur was one of the strongest agents of his time. He had a familiar, making him the first recorded person to have one after forty-three years. It had arrived when he was very young, on his sixth birthday, when his parents were trying to get him to his vegetables when he said that rabbits ate carrots and he most definitely did not, and wha-la! A flying rabbit with spearmint fur appeared, and being a child with limited creativity, he called it Flying Mint Bunny. The name stuck, and now he was with the little friend even to this day. No one else could see it, but there was proof of its existence through the magic scanners, and it helped him with minor retrievals. With his trusty spellbook, he could use the most complicated of Spells and had most Attack and Capture Spells memorized.

This was a different story, though; he wasn't sure where his job was taking him this time. Some jobs were easy, while others left lasting marks. His former assistant and younger brother, Alfred F. Jones, had been killed in an aeroplane accident while trying to hunt down a Russian serial killer named Ivan Braginsky.

Alfred had failed, even though it cost his life. No body had been recovered, and Ivan had gotten off scot-free. It had left Arthur with a further distaste of the rebels, and he had made the choice to move from his station in London all the way to a place as foreign and as odd as Paris.

The French agency would have been a humble looking building if it weren't for the magic water fountains. They were lined with silver and the water was a beautiful silver-blue. While Arthur didn't want to admit it, the French agency had style-what they were lacking was the skill and tenacity required to fight with the rebels.

Sighing, he walked up to the door and pulled it open. It was the same as every other agency: walls made of marble, black and gold clock upon the central pillar, the waiting chairs against the wall. It was particularly quiet, except for the non-stop clicking of keys as the consular officer at the front desk typed away. Her typing was loud and furious. He walked past her, ignoring the noises. He had an important meeting to get to, and he refused to be late. Nothing would make him late.

He flipped his gaze down to his stopwatch. Five minutes. He quickened his pace, glad that every agency had the same structure. Meeting room, if he was correct, would be on the right. Quickening his pace, he gently opened the door labelled 'meeting room', and opened it to find only two people in the room. Sitting down at the table, he unclipped his pen from his coat and waited for the beginning of the meeting. He was glad to be early, even if it was by a simple four minutes. The man at the head of the table greeted him with a nod, keeping his eyes on his computer, while the other man was asleep. A cat was also sleeping on his shoulder.

Since Arthur was sitting at a square table, and the two men were sitting on opposite sides, he had to infer that they either hated each other or there would only be four people at the meeting. It was rare that the meetings only contained a few people; often they would throw around ideas in a room full of people until they settled on the wisest and most careful ideas.

The door was pushed open silently, and the very last person arrived, taking his seat on the last side of the table. He was silvery blond and his eyes a dull blue that held the shine of old metal. In his hair was a barrette in the shape of a cross.

"I'm late," was all he said, but no one reacted.

"Should we start?" Arthur asked, a bit unnerved by the lack of responses. He pulled out a document of his transfer from his pocket and set it on the table.

"We can do introductions first," said the man with the cat. He was awake now, blinking away the tears of sleep, gently moving his cat to his lap. His voice was whispery and low. "My name's Heracles Karpusi. I was moved from Greece after we crushed their rebellion." His vibrant green eyes almost felt as if they bore a hole through Arthur, so he looked the other way, to the man at the head of the table.

"I am Yao Wang, all the way from China." That was all he said.

"Lukas Bondevik," the blonde man said roughly. "Norway." The cross made more sense now, but personally Arthur would not sport a symbol of his nationality, for fear of being recognized by an enemy.

"Now you have met our triple threat," Yao said smoothly. "Rebellion is bad in France because no one wants to deal with them. We are the only three who care enough to."

"The only three who can," Lukas muttered. "All the others end up dead or traumatized."

Arthur nearly winced. That was a stabbing, grueling detail that his employers had painfully left out. He figured why-he had rarely turned down a job, but the ones that he suspected might end like Alfred's he avoided. He kept his composure, however, and looked at the others expectantly. He faintly wondered what exactly he had agreed to do on the job.

"We must infiltrate the rebels. One of us must gain their trust, while the other three track the rebel's base, movements, and plans through the messages left for us. We are here to decide what identity to assume and which one of us it should be. Any suggestions or volunteers?" Heracles asked. Arthur judged that Heracles was not going to volunteer himself, and he was correct. The room was quiet. No one wanted to infiltrate the rebels, not unless they had to. The rebels were different everywhere, some more barbaric than others. The French rebels were famous for their punishments. They may have just been rumours, but the rumours were enough to scare away lots of young agents. The silence in the room was deafening, and Arthur could no longer take it. Before he could think of what else he could do- possibly figuring out what identity to assume first, possibly-he blurt out the words that would change his life forever.

"I'll do it." He was quiet, almost silent, but they all heard him. They all looked impressed with his bravery, and all were surprised. Even the cat paid attention, lifting his small tawny head to see the foolish agent. Needless to say, as soon as the words were out of his mouth Artur regretted it. There was no going back, he knew it. At least he would see Alfred again soon. Sure, they'd both be dead, but hey! What were the cons?

Arthur had always paid attention. He had always listened and done well in school, yet now, at one of the most important meetings of his life, he was not. He could not. He somehow could not hear what Yao was saying.

He was brought back into the moment by Yao clearing his throat and increased volume. "Arthur, are you listening?"

"Forgive me, no." He was trying to put on his best manners.

"You need a new identity."

"I can go by Allistor, I guess." At this moment, his brother seemed to come to mind. "And I can keep my same appearance."

"Are you sure?" Lukas asked skeptically. "You haven't seen them yet. You might know some."

Flying Mint Bunny sat on the Brit's shoulder, trying to give advice that he did not understand. One of these days he'd get around to giving the rabbit some ability to speak English.

Swallowing hard, he tried to find some sort of way to weasel out of this responsibility. "Actually, you're quite right. I haven't seen them yet. It's probably better if you take this case."

"I guess I can. I'm not sure, though, I'm too well-recognized." The others said likewise, and at this moment, he knew that he was in very deep trouble-with no way to escape. He'd already done things like these, but never in France, not in the most dangerous part of the world for an agent.

As the other three began to talk, Arthur felt their voices fade away. He had been a bloody idiot, trying to save the tension and act as if he was brave. He was done for, no matter what kind of stunt he pulled to get out of it. Avoiding digging his head into the table, he let his muscles release their tension and he frustratedly gritted his teeth.

Flying Mint Bunny hopped onto the table and crawled towards Lukas. To his surprise, Lukas gently pet Flying Mint Bunny's head and murmured something to it.

"Can you see him?" Arthur blurted.

Lukas nodded. "He's very fond of you." The slightest twinge of amusement almost came to his face, but he shoved it aside and shooed away Flying Mint Bunny with a wave of his hand.

Rolling his eyes, Yao flicked his pen to the side as Heracles petted his cat. "Can we continue?"

"Yes."

Lukas fixed the clip in his hair, which had been falling out of place. "All right, so we have agreed that Arthur is going?" The three of them, nodding, each revealed a file from their pocket and shoved it in my direction. Flying Mint Bunny squeaked at him, and he scowled.

"There are three suspects we were all supposed to look into," Heracles whispered. "But we're-"

"Speak louder, for heaven's sake!" Lukas took over. "There are three of them, and you're to spy on one of them. They're just suspected, but once one is confirmed, your job is to befriend them and then we can finally crush this rebellion."

"Which is the easiest?" Arthur asked, feeling as if this were an inappropriate question for the moment. However, he needed it to be answered.

They all shrugged. "I'd say Francis Bonnefoy, unless you want to go with Ivan Braginsky or the Albino," Heracles offered. "Francis is the noble with an estate the size of some nature reserves."

He was confused but took a note of the last comment. That would be hard to get to and from. "Aren't Ivan Braginsky and the Albino confirmed rebels?"

"They're rebels, but we do not know if they're with the rebellion," was the answer he received from Yao, who looked as if he just wanted Arthur to take the job and go off to die already.

Arthur nodded, and Lukas clasped his hands together. "We're done, then. Good luck, have fun, there's a note on what kind of flowers you'd like at your-"

"Not now, Lukas. Be quiet." Heracles, at least, seemed the tiniest bit remorseful, but when he turned his head to look, he found that the Greek was simply trying to sleep.

His head was beginning to hurt, and his stomach was feeling sick. All of his nerves were combining to give him HD visions of what could and probably would be his death. Spots swam before his eyes, but he blinked them away. He was not weak.

But he took the job anyway because there was nothing he could do. His own fate was no longer in his hands, but at the mercy of Francis's alliance.


	2. Chapter 2

Being afraid of getting caught red-handed was the least of Francis's worries. It was the secret that he was not powerful that he was worried about. Every single Bonnefoy in history had been incredibly powerful kings and queens who conquered lands and fought with honour and pride. What did he have? He no longer had Matthew to look after. Soon enough he'd get caught, with no to fight. The Albino was not moving at the moment, and the agents were too busy on the Albino to focus any time on him. Once the agents realized this, he was completely done for. He could not let them turn their attention towards him; he had too much stake, too much that he could not sacrifice. He would have to find a way to pretend that Ivan Braginsky was making an even larger comeback. Perhaps leaving water spouts in places would be effective? They were his trademarks, after all. His "magic metal pipes of pain" were feared in Russia and especially in places like Lithuania and Estonia, where his attacks had been unadulteratedly cruel.

Shaking his head, he tried to make the best of his time alone. He liked to think outside. Somehow, sitting on the grass under the moonlight helped him to find his quiet place and make good choices. Along with a glass of wine, nothing could go wrong. Only one glass, though. Too much and all the time had would be gone. He had to play it smart. Right next to a nature reserve, his manor was in a good place for the rebels to get to. The agents were not allowed to intrude on his land without a warrant, but he knew they'd find an excuse. He'd tripped up far too many times, only to be saved his magic. Francis was an especially skilled Charms magister; he could convince people very easily with simple words, and it wasn't limited to face-to-face speech. His power could change the minds of entire crowds, but there were too many in the International Magic Prohibition Program who could block his attacks-if you could call them that. Yes, he knew simple elemental attacks, but he couldn't conjure the powers that people like Arthur Kirkland or Elizabeta Héderváry could. Everyone knew full well that the rebellion combined could crush one of the agents easily, but getting rid of them all would be a challenge. They'd need help from the inside, which was something they didn't have, or at least, weren't aware of.

"If only we had an organized rebellion," he said frustratedly. Instead, they had a rebellion that was split under different groups. That was why the French rebellion moved so erratically and at the wrong and right times; they had no idea what the other groups were doing. The Axis Powers worked to hijack and destroy the agency bit by bit, while groups like the Northern Five had in all their plans to absolutely decimate the agents.

This was just about as practical as glasses without lenses. None of this was making any sense, either, and none of the pieces fit into place. Francis sighed and glared up towards the moon, nearly full.

"There is nothing I can do!" he told the sky, trying to comfort himself.

"There's plenty you can do," said a familiar voice. It was one of his best friends, Gilbert Beilschmidt, in his best nature. He had magic deficiency syndrome, a syndrome that caused his magic to fluctuate in strength. Sometimes he was so powerful he had to go to Francis to ask to be held back, while other times he was so weak that the syndrome sapped at his strength. "You can consult the awesome me!"

Francis could not hold back the grin that came upon his face. Being part of the rebellion, oftentimes he did not have time to talk with his friends. "What awesome advice do you have for me?"

"Don't get caught, obviously, and especially not by Arthur."

"Wow. What great advice. I feel so inspired," Francis said sarcastically. "What more of your wisdom could I need?"

"That is all you get for today." Gilbert turned to go inside Francis's house, as he was welcome anytime), but he paused. "Anyway, I was wondering if you would be willing to cover for me when the Axis Powers go out to give the agents' armoury a power outage tomorrow."

"I can't, Gilbert. It's not safe."

He laughed. "Being here is not safe. Our ideals are not safe. Wanting freedom-even that is not safe. Do you have a real excuse?"

"Fine. I'll go."

"Thank you. Don't be a coward!" He smiled wider and lifted his eyes to the moon.

Francis shrugged and took another sip of his wine. "Too late. We're all cowards."

"Fair point. Some of us are braver than others, but no one has actually thrown themselves to the agents. Except for people like Ivan. He just straight-up charges at them."

Ivan was considered the bravest of the rebels because of the fact he was running alone. The few rebels had that were alone almost never made it out alive. Ivan was a different story; most didn't like his methods, but it was often admitted that he was definitely iconic.

When Francis didn't respond, Gilbert just nodded and left. He went inside the house while Francis stayed and sat under the soft light, full of worries. At least he was good at hiding it.

That night, Francis couldn't sleep. It was too hard to sleep with all the intrusive thoughts he had about the agents. He was the most afraid of Yao Wang, who was known for his cold treatment towards the rebels he did find. Yao was more clever than powerful, yet responsible for the deaths of powerful rebels like the infamously blunt Kiku Honda, who had been able to short-circuit the tech in buildings with a single thought and channel electricity as if it were a fun game. He had been skilled in many areas-being able to create illusions and bring art to life were powers that had been coveted by many, but he mastered them as easily as a child mastered making magical sparks. But he was dead, a large blow to the Axis Powers, who would surely fall without him.

He shook his head clear of those thoughts and rolled over. If he had to force himself to sleep, he would. It wouldn't have been the first time anyway. Through his determination to doze off, his goal was finally achieved after his cat Louis climbed into his arms and lay down, forcing him to assume the exact position until sleep finally came.

"Wake up!"

Francis was rudely jolted out of sleep by Gilbert, who was slapping him in the face without inflicting damage. "Go away..." he murmured, knowing that Gilbert was immune to his charms.

"Wake up, Francis!" Then Gilbert began to yell insults that would've offended him if they hadn't been friends, so Francis got up and countered all of his insults. They almost began to argue, but then Gilbert remembered what he had so fervently wanted to tell Francis.

He excitedly clapped his hands together. "I found this!" Digging around his pockets, he fished a badge out.

It was easy to recognize; every rebel knew that golden crest well. "Gilbert, that's an agent's badge!"

He smirked, proud of himself. " _Ja!_ I can sell this!"

"Gilbert!" he shrieked, angry and in a panic.

"What?"

Groaning, Francis forced his brain to work and be angry at Gilbert. "This is not a good thing! Where did you get that?"

"Outside by the river!"

Francis told him to leave and think about what he'd done, but he used stronger words than that, probably something he wouldn't dare to ever repeat again. He had gotten caught up in the moment and suddenly his day was ruined. Why did Gilbert have to be so stupid sometimes? It wasn't as if Gilbert could help it, though. Stupidity and lack of common sense was just something that he really needed to work on.

He got ready for the day, ate his breakfast, and then went to the riverside. There was no sign of a scuffle, no reason that an agent should've lost their badge. He remained wary, though, and brought a concealed gun with him. No matter how well he searched for troubles, there seemed to be nothing wrong with the world today.

The suspense that followed him through the day was torture. Everything was far too normal for him to bear. Trying to shake off the feeling of being watched, he confined himself to the inside of his house and made checks on the servants. There was an especially cheeky one who gave him a little bit of sass, even after he had filled the kitchen with smoke.

"What do you mean you were making tea?" he asked frustratedly as he ordered everyone to open the windows.

"I gave you the bloody answer! What more could you want?"

"What's your name?"

"It's Allistor," he said sourly. He looked as if he was sixteen, but any common sixteen-year-old would know how to make tea without nearly burning down the kitchen.

Francis sighed. "Well, Allistor, I was hoping that you would be more careful. Please note you are no longer welcome in the kitchen anymore."

Despite his infuriated expression, Allistor simply nodded his head stiffly and curtly walked off to receive some other assignment.

Now Allistor was working with the embroidery on some of the tapestries; he was actually skilled with the needle and working with expertise and finesse. The others were admiring his handiwork, surprised that this sixteen-year-old had skills they hadn't considered to be in his field. Since Francis and the silver man sat next to them, he had to assume they were keeping an eye on him. It was almost torture because they were teasing the agents, almost every single one of them.

"Remember Arthur Kirkland? Well, West told me that he almost got caught with a package of illegal rifles but he walked right past them!" Allistor continued to embroider, hiding his salty rage as they talked about him. Once he got out of this stupid disguise, he'd condemn them both. All he had to do was get it back to the agency and they would make the moves, though he wished it was him doing it.

"Really? Gilbert, I don't believe it." Francis snickered, smirking.

"Yeah, like that dude can see past his eyebrows!"

They were trying to hold back their laughter, and Allistor gritted his teeth. This was embarrassing, but he paid the best attention he could. They lowered their voices.

"...the Minister, wanting to…"

"...can't do that, Francis, no, that would mean…"

Flying Mint Bunny flew around them, gathering intelligence. The bright mint fur stood out very clearly against their background and they nearly looked comical. He had to pray that the rabbit remembered this time because last time it had not, which was shameful. The only reason he got out of that one was that one of the other agents he was with had been hiding in the air vents and heard it all.

He turned his mind to the present and glanced sideways towards Gilbert and Francis. If they thought they could get away with this on his watch, they had another thing coming.

I'll admit it, this chapter feels like a filler to me but honestly, I always have the world designed so perfectly in my head I forget to world-build, so I hope this all makes sense.


End file.
